Mrs. Weckman's House of Cards was tucked away in a small alcove of Hillard's Alley--a tiny street branching from the central circle, the center of town. One of the card shop's neighbors was a pawnshop with a large hand-painted sign of three gold balls thrust from the building, approximately five and a half feet up so that non-short visitors stood a chance of koshing their heads against it. On the other side was a specialty shop selling incense and lava lamps among other hippie items--its window was decorated in black velvet and silver stars and books about goddesses and earth mothers.
Ellen was in a hurry. She was short, so paid no attention to the pawnshop sign as she ran down the alley with her hand to her nose (apparently the specialty shop was having a musk and damask incense sale, a rather unholy combination) and her yellow raincoat flapping behind her. She was supposed to meet her cousin at the cafe three blocks away for lunch. And she needed to get a card for him even though he never explained why. Tom was funny about those kind of things.
Unlike the window at the specialty shop, Mrs. Weckman's House of Cards had spread out stuffed rabbits, streamers, and glittery whirly-gigs against a sky blue screen. On the green door was a discrete bronze sign that simply said 'House of Cards'--'Mrs. Weckman's' had rubbed off years ago. The door gave an electronic ping as she pushed it open.
"May I help you?"
White hair and eyes as blue as the front window screen peered at her from behind a rotating rack of colorful stickers. Ellen took a step back in surprise, for a moment, she had thought that the old woman had appeared from nowhere as the cashier’s desk next to the stickers had been vacant.
"Well." She shoved her hands into her raincoat pockets and thought of Tom and his vagueness. "Yes. My cousin needs a card."
"We have plenty of birthday cards at the first aisle."
She let out a breath. "I don't think he wants one of those. The problem is, he never said what kind he wanted, even when I asked him. He just told me that your shop would have what he needed."
"Do you mind if I ask what your cousin's name is?"
She supposed it would do no harm to give the old woman that small piece of harmless information. There must be hundreds of Toms in town. "Tom."
"Ah." She sounded as if Ellen had given her a revelation from God. The old woman thumped out from behind the sticker rack with surprising speed, her oak cane tapping along the carpet like a third leg. “Right this way.”
Now confused, she trailed the proprietress down one of the aisles to the back of the store. The back wall was lined with shelves overflowing with stacks of envelopes, cards, folders, notebooks, and filler paper. The old woman plucked a card off one of the stacks.
“This will be what he will be looking for.”
Ellen glanced doubtfully at the card, the picture of a yellow lily drawn in front. When she paid for it, the old woman winked at her and said, “Send your cousin my regards.”
Back out in the alley, she checked her watch. She could still make it to the café on time if she walked. She took out the card from the white paper bag that the old woman had placed it in and opened it. Inside was a single line, handwritten.
